


Blowback

by phantisma



Series: Keeper Verse [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-22
Updated: 2007-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In "Captivus" Sam works a little dark magic in order to remain functional to save Dean.  He insinuates that there is a payback attached.  As is usual, payback's a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowback

_Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “I…I’m having a bad week. The pain, nightmares…some days I can’t lift the arm at all.”_

_“You seem to be pretty mobile.”_

_“Yeah. I worked…it’s a spell. I don’t use it…I’ve only done it once or twice before. The blowback when it’s gone is seldom worth it.”_

_“But this time it was?”_

_Sam nodded. “Yes. It’ll be worse because I did it twice…but once we get home and I take the band off…” He made a face. “But we’ve got Dean, and he’s going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”_

-and –

_Two steps into the house, Paul turned, his eyes flashing, Sam felt the first blast and staggered backward, but Dana was there, physically pulling the boy away and ripping into his mind almost viciously._

_They were on the floor and Sam was staggering, reaching for her, but she was way ahead of him. She spiraled into Paul’s memory, ripping out everything back to the last time he saw his father. Sam went to his knees beside her, following her, trying to soften the edges and together they found the center of his powers and locked them down, burying that center under layers of emotion that should keep him well away from it for a long time._

_“I’m sorry, Sam.” Dana whispered as they both came up and out, her hand brushing across face. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying. “I’m sorry.”_

 

Blowback

Sam stood outside his bedroom, well the bedroom that ostensibly is his, and stared at a sleeping Paul. A leaden weight descended on him – guilt, pain, exhaustion – in a word, payback.

John walked up behind him, glanced at Paul, and laid a gentle hand on Sam’s back. “I wish it was different son.”

Sam nodded, swallowed hard, pushed thoughts of Paul away to deal with the matters at hand.

“I need a favor Dad,” Sam turned to his father, summoning the blankest expression he could muster. “I need you to stay here with Dean and Dana and let me use your place for a couple of days.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John looked at Sam as if he was speaking Mandarin.

“I need a place to deal, Dad.” He didn’t want to have to say why, didn’t want him to know, suddenly ashamed somehow of what this would cost. He didn’t want his father or Dean or Dana to have to see.

“Deal?” John looked at Sam dumbfounded. “You need to leave to ‘deal’?” John’s voice rose and then he stopped dead.

“Wait one damn minute. You're talkin’ dealing with the blowback, aren’t you?” John shook his head emphatically. “No, you aren’t going anywhere Sam. You are staying right the fuck here where I can keep an eye on you, help you.” John laid a hand on Sam’s face, concern warring with determination in his eyes.

“No Dad, I….,” Sam paused to figure out how to phrase this, how to make his father understand the need without realizing the depth of it. He could feel it coming…his control of it slipping. He wasn’t even going to need to take the band off, dispel the glamour. It was coming anyway. He decided then to go with the truth of the thing. “I’m gonna lose a lot of control of the link…..” Already it was getting difficult to keep the wall up, and Dana was sleeping. “Dean and Dana will be pummeled. They’ll feel it all. Dana could block most of it but…”

John finished the sentence, “But you don’t want her to have to.”

Sam averted his eyes, leaned on the doorjamb, looked at the floor.

Sympathy mixed with a grudging anger flowed out of his father as he settled a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Now you listen up young man. You have nothing to feel bad about. You made a necessary choice.”

Sam cut him off. “Dad we need to do this later. I don’t have time.”

Sam’s anxiety climbed. He had to get out of there. His stomach churned. His head was starting to feel…strange. Like everything was slowing down. Everything but his heart, which was racing.

John reached for his phone and dialed. He was abrupt, nearly rude. “Missouri. Get over here. We need your help.”

John touched Sam’s face again, reassuringly. “Go see Dean. Missouri will help. How long we got?”

“An hour, max.” Sam didn’t meet John’s eyes, couldn’t. Didn’t deserve the sympathy he’d find there. Not from John Winchester, of all people.

John assured him, “I’ll handle this Sam. Go see Dean.”

 

* * *

  
Sam stood at the foot of their bed and looked down at Dean. Dave, John’s medic/doctor friend, had Dean hooked up to an IV and a blood transfusion, after a thorough exam, clean bandages and an admonishment to keep him in bed. Dean looked serene, beat to hell but serene.

Sam grabbed the footboard to lower himself down. Sixty minutes was deeply optimistic. The rumblings of nausea and lightheadedness were upon him. It wouldn’t be long before he’d have to give in.

Sam reached under the down comforter to touch an uninjured section of Dean’s leg. He stroked it up and down, fingering the soft hair.

He owed this man everything. And he was alive and would be fine. It was worth it. Even if it killed him. Because Dean was a better man than Sam could ever dream of being…because Dana needed her father…because…Sam would rather die than lose Dean.

Sam’s feet tingled and went instantly numb.

He had to get out of there. He was wasting time he didn’t have.

Taking a deep breath, Sam asserted the last of his control and reached for Dean’s unconscious mind.

_Babe. Morphine’s nice, huh? I love you. Every ounce of me. You’re everything. Rest. Heal._

* * *

Sam headed down the stairs, reaching into his jean’s pocket for his car keys. No matter what his father said, Sam knew he couldn’t do this here. These were his own demons, come to claim what was due.

Missouri stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side looking up at him.

“What did you do young man?”

Sam froze mid-staircase, grabbed for the railing. Everything felt…dead.

“What did you do?” Sam asked Missouri, confused. He swayed when realization dawned. “Oh lord, you put up a dampening field.” Sam slurred his words, making the last two come out as ‘dadenin feel.’

“Get your sweet ass down those stairs before you fall head first and break something useful.” Missouri tapped her foot impatiently.

Sam navigated slowly to the bottom, clinging to the railing. He reached for Missouri as his feet skid off the last step to steady himself.

“Honey, your father told me that your glamour wasn’t exactly pure and you twisted it twice. Goddamn stupid.”

She shook her head. “I damn well realize that you didn’t have much choice,” her voice trailed off and Sam got the sense she was reading him…he couldn’t feel her, but somehow he knew that’s what she was doing.

She stopped, “You really don’t need me to say this, do you?”

Instead, she relayed the critical message. “I dampened the first floor and half way up the stairs. Dana and Dean won’t feel a thing. Wish I could say the same for you.”

Sam looked at her and strangled out a, “Thank you,” and doubled over. He felt his father, appearing out of nowhere, grab him, keeping him from sinking to his knees on the floor. Sam choked out, “Bathroom,” and his father adjusted his grip.

He heard Missouri say, “John, I’m gonna look in on Dean and then pack up Paul,” as his father lead him into the bathroom.

Sam reached frantically for the sink and asked, “Paul?”

John smoothed Sam’s hair. “Missouri is taking Paul home with her. She is going to care for him until Dana and I locate his dad.” And then, “Don’t worry about Paul. Let’s worry about you.”

As John got out ‘worry’, Sam fell to the floor and seized, his body rigid and shaking.

* * *

It had been two hours, two long hours. John stared at Sam, sprawled across the bathroom floor. Who in the world ever heard of anyone seizing on and off for two straight hours?

He was tempted to call Dave back, but knew that Sam wouldn’t like that.

He had left Sam’s side for only two minutes at the beginning. He had raced upstairs to wake Dana. He knew from her face that she sensed the dampening effect instantly. And she clearly didn’t like it, at all. That girl might look like her father but her bitch face was pure Sam.

“Papa what’s going on?” came out blearily, jaw clenching.

“Listen to me young lady,” John tried for a calm voice, not really a natural for him. “You are to go and stay with your father and you are not to come downstairs. Do you hear me?” The calm clearly was not working so well.

“Papa why? Tell me what’s going on.” Dana yawned, not really awake, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.

“Stay with your father. Do not come downstairs. That is an order. Do you hear me?” Abandoning all pretense of calm, John grabbed her face for emphasis.

Dana nodded, wide eyed. “Yes Papa. I understand. I’ll go to Dad right now.”

As John walked out of the door, he heard her parting words, “Tell him I love him.”

He hated ordering her around. But old habits die hard and there wasn’t time for any of that new age reasoning touchy-feely crap, or the tireless debate of talking to a teenage girl.

Truthfully, when staring at Sam’s prone body, John realized he had seen him look worse. Hell, he’s seen the kid almost bleed out.

But, he’d never seen more misery on his face.

And he’d never seen him lose control of his powers. Even John could feel it, the hair on his arms standing up.

Sam seized again. John reached for Sam’s head with his right arm, the one not in the cast, and cradled it to his body. Sam’s arms flailed and legs twitched. He rolled left to right, right to left, pulled his legs to his chest and moaned in pain. The seizure continued unabated for three minutes. By the time it subsided, Sam was panting, tears streaming down his reddened face. There were moans and indecipherable mutterings, then silence.

After the initial seizure, John had to remove every item in the room. To his knowledge, Sam had no telekinetic powers, those belonged solely to Dana. But, during that first seizure, items flew all over the bathroom. John ducked a bar of soap, some towels, a bottle, all the while keeping his eye on the mirror praying it wouldn’t shatter into pieces.

In the calm that followed, he’d pulled everything out, anything that could be moved. He emptied the medicine chest and took the mirrored door off of it. He’d made it as safe as he could.

Safe. Not something Sam was used to. Not something John had ever had the chance to give him. Now was his time.

John rocked Sam gently. “Come back to me Sam.”

Sam opened one eye to show John he was there, on some level.

“Go check Dean. Been too long.” Sam whispered, voice raspy, tired.

“Dana is with him Sam. Dean’s got so much morphine in him that he’s feeling nothing. He’s fine.” John tried for a reassuring voice, worried that he was failing miserably. Comfort was never his strong suit.

“Check Dana then – please, Dad please.”

“Not leaving you.”

“Please.” It was a whisper. Plaintive. All he could manage.

John caved with a sigh. “Ok, I’ll be right back.” He settled Sam’s head gently to the cool tile floor and stood. Two hours, and it was only the beginning. It was going to be a long day…night…he had no idea really anymore. His legs were numb, his back sore, his left arm on fire. It had been a long couple days.

_How the fuck is this fair?_ Sam had suffered enough for three lifetimes already. _He really doesn’t deserve this._

He collected himself outside the door and then trudged up the stairs to Dean and Sam’s room. In the doorway he paused, his eyes scanning the room. Dana was in the chair by the bed studying and Dean was out cold.

John cleared his throat. Dana looked up and asked anxiously, “How is he?’

John smiled, walked across the room and stroked her hair.

“How is he?” John asked pointing at Dean.

“No fair. Answer my question first, please Papa.” Dana’s tone bordered on rude.

“Don’t use that Pissy Dana tone with me,” John smiled to lessen the sting of the words, then changed subjects. “Did you change the bag?” he asked, pointing to the saline drip. She nodded, but still looked pissy. “Good work.”

John reached for Dean’s pulse, felt his forehead. “He seems stable. He should eat something.”

“You aren’t going to answer me,” Dana stated in utter disbelief. “You always answer me Papa. Please.” She was pleading, staring at him, trying to bend him to her will.

After ten seconds, when he didn't give in, she switched tactics, settled for a tad of guilt, “You not saying anything speaks volumes ya’ know.” And turned her head away from him, went back to her book.

“Let me handle Sam. You handle your dad, ok?”

Dana turned back to him. Tossed him a look as if she would like to call down the wrath of the heavens upon him. But he knew she wouldn’t argue. Instead she inhaled and lifted her head. “Soup, some ginger ale, maybe some crackers, apple sauce – he likes apple sauce. The doc said soft stuff, cause the morphine will make him queasy.”

She was angry at him, but John figured it was better than having her scared. One of them scared was enough. And right now, he was plenty scared.

John made a tray for Dean and, as an overture to his granddaughter, he included all her favorites, celery, carrots, gouda, grapes, black olives, grapefruit soda, peanut M&Ms, chips, guacamole, those funny French crackers. John lifted the tray with his one good hand and balanced it against his body. It was almost more than he could handle one handed.

John glanced in the bathroom to check Sam before going back upstairs. The bathroom reeked of vomit but Sam must have reached the toilet because there was no mess. Sam’s eyes were closed. He lay shivering on the floor, mumbling words John couldn’t make out. _Shivering beats seizing, I guess._

John trudged up the stairs with the tray.

Dana shook Dean gently. “Daddy, wake up.”

Dean opened an eye, groggy. “Where’s Sam?”

Before Dana could say a word, John interjected. “Resting, he’s beat.” John put the tray on the end of the bed, looking sternly at his granddaughter.

“Bathroom,” Dean growled. John jerked, panic sinking in, thinking Dean somehow knew Sam was prone in the downstairs bathroom. He realized a beat later that Dean needed to _use_ the bathroom.

John reached out his right arm to help Dean up. Dana walked to his other side. They got him up slowly, careful to not allow any stitches to rip.

After he was done and back in bed, John looked at him. “You need to eat something Dean. That’s an order.” Because Dean obeyed orders without question and John was too tired to fight him over Sam.

Dana mumbled, “He’s big on the orders today.”

Dean blearily turned to her, “What?” John glared at her and she pasted a placid smile on her face, “Eat Dad – you’ve been ordered.”

She turned a serene face to John and meaningfully intoned, “Ari needs to go out. You should take her with you.”

* * *

  
Before heading downstairs, John threw three blankets over his shoulders and grabbed as many pillows as his good arm could hold. He shoved the small med kit into his pocket and headed back down the stairs, Ari one step behind.

_Need a one story house. Too old for this shit._

When he reached the bottom, the dog turned toward the bathroom, not the doggie door out. Figures. Even the damn dog won’t do what she’s supposed to.

John moved to the bathroom door, dreading what he would find. Sam was rolled onto his left side, curled up in a ball shivering violently and dry heaving. Ari already had curled around his back.

John dropped the pillows and laid two blankets on the floor. He gently rolled Sam onto the blankets’ edge and gathered the rest around him. Ari scurried underneath to get closer to Sam. John tucked a pillow under his head and one under his back.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out the med kit.

Sam mumbled, “No.”

“What do you mean No?”

John reached down to his youngest son, felt his pulse. It was racing and his skin felt like ice. “I’ll have you know that you’re in much worse shape than your brother at this point. And I’ll remind you that he had demons chewing on him. A little morphine will take the edge off Sam.”

“No.” Sam rolled back to his side, screamed out in pain and dry heaved. He laid prone for a moment after the heaving stopped and then seized. John grabbed his head to hold it steady and pulled him close to his body. The seizure wasn’t as long as the last few, maybe a minute, maybe less.

“At least that one was shorter. Now let me give you some pain killer.”

“No. Have to pay price.” Sam resumed shivering. Ari scooted closer under the blanket, a little wiggling motion.

John resumed stroking Sam’s head. “You’ve paid a price your whole life son. You don’t owe the universe a damn thing.”

“No. I owe. Don’t deserve…” His voice trailed off as a violent shiver shook him, but John didn’t need to hear the words to know where Sam was going with them.

“You were a child who was stolen from his family and tortured,” John paused and then added emphatically, “and raped. Repeatedly.”

Sam closed his eyes.

“Demons broke you.”

“Shoulda slit wrists. Shouldn’t a lived. Shouldn’t a caved. Should…died…should a let me…”

John felt his chest tighten at the words. Time for some real honesty. Brutal even.

“I thought that myself for ten years or so. Felt sorry for your suffering but hated that my son was some kind of monster. Spent nights laying in bed wondering if I should just put a bullet through your brain. Debating if I could look Dean or Dana in the eye if I did it.”

Sam opened his eyes and looked at John, but seemed completely unsurprised, even understanding. “I know what you continued to do after you joined us. Probably know better than you, had you followed everywhere.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond but the words don’t come out. He convulsed, his eyes rolling shut and his head thrashing. It lasted only thirty seconds but it was the most violent yet. Sam was unconscious when it was over and from the smell had lost control of his bladder. Ari whimpered and shifted under the blanket. John heard something cracking and looked up to see the bathroom door breaking, hanging loosely off its hinges.

“Come on Sammy. Come Back.” John stroked his hair. Ari’s nose peeked out from under the blanket and she softly licked Sam’s face.

It required a few minutes, more than a few actually. And Sam came around. His eyes were glazed, not home.

“Say something Sammy.”

“Daddy.” John’s heart stopped. It had taken fifteen years to get Sam to call him Dad. Not that he had tried all that hard the first ten. Sitting there with Sam’s head in his lap he couldn’t imagine the people they were all those years ago. Almost couldn't stomach the raw need in Sam’s voice with one simple word…a word John hasn’t heard since Dean was 9.

“Yeah Sam. A daddy who is immensely guilty that he ever considered such a thing. You hear me? I was dead-on wrong about you. You are solid gold Sam.”

John paused, making sure he was being heard. He stroked his hands over Sam’s arms over the blanket, trying to will some warmth into him. “I know, you did some awful things, Sam. But even if you hadn’t been driven to them, you’ve atoned so many times over. I was a stubborn old fool not to see that sooner.”

One huge tear rolled down Sam’s face, as if his body lacked the energy to sob properly.

“Now let me give you something for the pain and then I’ll clean you up.”

“No. Have to run its course. Must pay – no short cuts, “ Sam’s words were unsteady, “Oh god, hurts.”

John never saw his son this exposed, all defenses – physically and psychically - shattered. His boy, who he didn’t get to raise, to love, laid out on a bathroom floor because his love for his family was stronger than any concern for himself…because he didn’t think himself worthy, even now. John was pretty sure he never loved any one more in his life.

“Ok, we’ll do this your way.” John got up to fetch some towels, ran a basin of hot water, found the previously flying bar of soap. “Kiddo, I’m going to strip you and get you cleaned up.”

* * *

It had been hours.

It had been torture.

She’d been cut-off from Sam before.

She hated it then and she hated it now.

And this was worse. A thousand million times worse.

She knew he was in trouble, suffering.

She knew Papa’s order had good intentions.

She knew Dad needed her.

She knew she was doing exactly the right thing.

And she was fucking miserable.

Twelve hours since Papa woke her.

Papa had come upstairs every few hours, when Sam was sleeping, she guessed. He looked terrible. He hadn’t slept in two days and he ain’t young.

Three men in Dana’s life. All in bad shape. All because she read a vision wrong. Her fault. All of this was her fault.

Dean stirred, opened his eyes for the first time in eight hours. His coloring was much improved, his eyes were clear. The blood transfusion and the rest had helped immensely.

“Hi honey,” he said, voice strong.

She plastered on the best “I’m great Daddy” smile she had in her.

Dean went to rub his face, felt the bandages, stopped. Turned his head as if something dawned on him and asked, “Where’s Sam?”

“Resting.”

“Bullshit. What is that wall I’m feeling? Where’s Sammy?”

She’s tried deflection. “He’s hurting Dad – just getting some rest.”

“Do not lie to me young lady.” And there it was. He always saw right through her, better than anyone else. They were too much alike in how they lied not to know.

Dana hung her head, debating on what version of things to tell. She planned to tell him the truth anyway so she might as well be done with it.

She looked him square in the eye. “He twisted a dark spell…..twice,” her voice cracked a little. She braced herself for his response.

“Huh?” No furious response, just a confused face and his coloring had turned a bit gray.

“To get functional, to save you…he needed some help, some dark help. He was in lots of pain and wiped out so…the spell...and it helped.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean tried to stand. Dana reached out a hand to push him back down.

“Papa’s with him. Downstairs. Where I’ve been ordered not to tread,” she added ruefully.

“What’s that goddamn wall I feel?”

“I’m guessing Missouri shielded us off from him, probably to protect us.” She was actually surprised he could feel it.

Dean looked at her, not quite getting it. “Protect us from what?”

“Sam’s pain,” she said softly, not wanting to upset him but wanting him to understand. She saw exactly the moment when it clicked for him. Right at that moment, he pulled down his blank, hunter face. The one she never could read.

“Dad, should we be worried?”

“Worried about what honey?”

“It taking over.”

“It?” Dean didn’t understand.

“The draw to the evil, the pain, the wanting relief. I mean…he does it without thinking…just…” Dana looked at Dean, not hiding the fear she had carried around with her since she learned everything Sam had gone through, the reasons for his anguish and the relief the demon had offered him…the relief he gave up when he came to them. The words rushed out of her mouth, “I couldn’t stand to lose him, not like that. But he has so much to battle, so much.”

“We won’t lose him Dana.” She thought he was placating her. It pissed her off.

“You’re saying that because you’re being the good Daddy and telling me what I want to hear. Just consoling me. You don’t know that to be true at all.”

She realized she was yelling. Which was certainly not fair. He was hurt and weak and didn’t need her emotional outburst, her fear, laid at his feet. But, she couldn’t contain it; she’d carried it around inside of her for three years, and she’d been sitting there dwelling on it for the last twelve hours and it was just bubbling out.

“How do you KNOW that?” She bit back a sob, resisted the urge to throw something, wanting suddenly to just crawl up in his arms and have him reassure her that everything would be all right.

Dean answered calmly, reaching for her hand. “Simple honey. He loves us. He’s proven it time and time again.” She could see that he really did believe it. Her dad really did believe they had nothing to worry about. She wasn’t sure why, but it did make her feel better.

Dean yawned and squeezed her hand. “Now, I agree that he’s a physical mess and sometimes an emotional mess. We need to find ways to get his body healthier. And take the load off of him. If he did what I think he did, I can only imagine how bad the effect of this fucking spell will be.”

Dana nodded. She could focus on finding ways to make Sam healthier. Her thoughts were interrupted as John walked in the door.

“How is he?” Dean demanded before John could say anything.

John walked over to Dean, taking his pulse and then replied. “He’s a tough SOB. I’ll say that. He’s asleep at the moment.”

“Bring him upstairs.” Dean demanded.

“He’s got no leg and I can’t carry him,” John turned to Dana. “You can go downstairs but stay out of the bathroom. Leave him alone. That’s an order.”

“You let him fall asleep in the bathroom?” Dean looked at his father, furious.

John ignored Dean’s tone and replied casually, “Yeah. I’ll bring him up to you as soon as he’s got it in him to climb the stairs. I’m going to get some sleep on the couch down there.”

Dean wasn’t letting him off that easily. “How bad? Tell me.”

John shook his head and walked out of the room. Dean would have followed, but Dana’s hand stopped him. “You stay here. I’ll go find out.”

“He said stay away, Dana.”

Dana stood and looked down at her father. “Orders only go so far, Dad. Even when they’re Papa’s.”

Dean shook his head. “No, Dana. He’s right. Leave Sam be to deal with this. He’ll be okay. He’ll be fine. Dad’s taking good care of him.”

* * *

Dana walked in the back door, from the yard to the kitchen. Papa was on the phone talking to one of his contacts. She stopped and put the bags from the burger joint across town down on the coffee table and then froze.

She shook John’s arm. He waved her off, made the hand signal to wait a minute.

“What happened to the field Papa?” she asked nervously. “The field is gone.”

John looked at her and mumbled, “Sam’s asleep. He’s fine.”

No. He wasn’t exactly asleep. It felt wrong somehow. Not fine. Not fine at all. She turned slowly, feeling her way around.

And then she felt the first burst of bright yellow smack her between the eyes and she started running toward the bathroom.

It was a like a tidal wave of color and misery washing across the room. The yellow morphed to a bright, obscene orange in a moment and it knocked her off balance, tossed her into the wall. She heard furniture flying and glass breaking all around her, but couldn’t look up to see what was broken.

She braced herself, steeled herself, toughened up her shields. She got back on feet and moved two steps before the wave changed from orange to fire engine red, slamming almost physically into her and smacked her flat on her back. She was on the floor when she realized that the blowback was headed upstairs, towards her dad, who had zero defenses. It would probably tear him up; it would definitely rip each and every stitch out of his body.

She reacted completely on instinct. She opened her whole mind and just threw a brick wall up and out. Not fancy at all. Nothing subtle. But she felt the tide stop, felt it push into the wall and gather there, a mix of colors and emotion and pain. She reigned in the color, concentrating, pulling it in slowly and steadily, until she had it in a ball. Then she focused on the ball and sent an image of white light at it and it dissipated in a puff of smoke.

Only then did she open her eyes. She was in her grandfather’s arms and he was the most freaked out she had ever seen. “Dana, come back to me honey.”

“I’m right here Papa and I’m fine. It’s gone.”

“What is gone Dana?” Of course, he didn’t know, couldn’t see or sense what happened, just witnessed the damage.

“The blowback.” She stretched, making sure she hadn’t hurt anything on the way down. “He has no control of his powers, does he?” It clicked for Dana then as to why she hadn’t been allowed downstairs.

“He lost control of them from the first seizure,” John admitted. She moved to stand and John didn’t let her go. “I’m fine really. I need to see him, help him.” She looked up at him and shook her head before he could voice anything. “Don’t say ‘no’ Papa because I’m going in, you’ll only make me disobey you outright.”

She pulled herself to her feet, almost surprised that he let her go, and walked purposefully to the bathroom. Sam was huddled up in a pile of blankets, shivering and tossing his head to and fro. Ari was curled up next to him.

The bathroom had been stripped bare. For his safety.

She bent down and opened Sam’s right eye with her fingers. His eye was bright red from the burst blood vessels. There was no recognition there. Nothing that was Sam. _Shit._

She had imagined pain. She had imagined suffering. She hadn’t figured this might kill him.

First things first. She erected a permanent wall around the bathroom, mentally used rebar to shore it up. Nothing was blowing out of this room until this was over and done. After she was done, she stopped and erected a second wall. No reason not to be doubly sure. Being careful was good.

She didn’t want to invade his mind. She knew it was a bad idea. But she wasn’t going to let him die.

“What are you doing Dana?” Dana jerked. She hadn’t realized John had followed her into the room.

“I erected a wall. Can’t let this get to Dad,” she paused then added, “or break any more furniture.”

“Yeah, I got that. What were you about to do?” John was not easily fooled or sidetracked. He knew his granddaughter.

“I need to know if he’s in there. When is the last time he said anything coherent?” Dana demanded.

“Not sure. Maybe twelve hours ago. I swear Dana – it stopped about eight hours ago and he’s been sleeping. He looked lost but I figured it was just the exhaustion and the physical toll on his body.” John looked unsure, worried.

“Ok, I’ll just touch his mind lightly. See what is going on from the surface.”

“Let me call Missouri.”

Dana shook her head. “Papa, Missouri’s powers aren’t up to this. This would hurt her, trust me. I can do this.”

And she reached out, gently, slowly, carefully, and touched the outer rim of Sam’s senses. She instantly hit a bundled mess of images, memories, pain – nothing coherent.

She pulled back, looked at John. “There’s no Sam there. Just a big mess like everything in his brain has been scrambled, rearranged, dumped out and stomped on.”

John ran a hand over his face. “The seizures probably. Why did they stop and restart?”

“Don’t know.” She shook her head. Ran her studies through her brain, grasping for an explanation. “He did twist the damn thing twice so maybe this is the effects of the second time. But I don’t know for sure.” Dana hung her head, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“Papa, I’m not going in there all guns blazing like I did with Paul.” She looked up at him, trying to make her face show confidence and maturity. She had to do it. Or Sam might not make it through the next seizure. “But, I have to go in and get him to remember himself.”

“Dana, if another seizure hits and you’re in there, it will clobber you. I can not allow that. He would never want that.”

“Good point, really good point.” She bit her lip and thought about all the ways Missouri had taught her to protect herself when inside someone else’s thoughts. “I’ll erect a shock absorber. It is pretty standard, Papa, when you are roaming where you shouldn’t. Let’s you duck and cover quickly.”

And before he could object, she reached in and called Sam’s name.

_Hi Sam. Love you. Need to find you. Here to help. It’s Dana. Let me help._

She felt a tiny spark of recognition. She gasped in relief.

_Hi Sam. It’s Dana. Let me put a few things in order. Let me help._

And she proceeded to straighten out a few things, talking softly to keep him aware of her. She made some connections. Slowly. Easy things. Created links and helping his brain to flow on its own.

She softened the rough edges of the over-firing brain chemicals, settling things down.

Then she focused on starting to fix Sam’s thoughts of her father. She figured he would be the most comforting to him. As she was getting that stuff straightened out, she felt Sam relax. This obviously comforted him, made sense to him, helped.

And then she saw a tinge of yellow. And she should have ducked behind the shock absorber. That would have been the sensible thing to do.

But no one ever accused Dana Elizabeth Winchester of sensibility. She didn’t duck. No, she threw herself mentally in front of the yellow and threw back green and blue. It was foolhardy really and fucking stupid…but it worked.

She heard her grandfather say something. She loosened her concentration without withdrawing from Sam’s mind and said, “What did you say?”

“I saw that. Don’t know exactly what but saw that you stopped the seizure. He said he needed to go through it, no buffering. It’s not allowed.”

Dana’s eyes snapped up to John’s. “He said that? That’s just crap. He’s a bloody martyr of the first degree. There are no such rules. Trust me here.” Dana wanted to strangle Sam, always wanting to pay some damn price for his sins. If he wasn’t more than half way to dead, she’d kick his ass.

She went back to work. She realized that by putting a few more links together he would be able to pick up the pieces. The important part was stopping the seizures. So, she propped herself up against the wall and pulled Sam’s body into her lap. And waited to stave off the next seizure. Once she was set up, she opened her eyes.

John huddled beside her, worried. She smiled. “I’ve got this round, Papa. Why don’t you go check on Dad? I’m not sure I stopped it all before it got to him…and he’s probably ready for another dose of morphine.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

She let her eyes half close, scanning through Sam as the pathways and links slowly moved closer to right. “Yeah…” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Go check Dad.”

* * *

“What are you doing in the middle of the hall?”

Dean looked up into his father’s face. He was relieved that his father found him but frankly really didn’t want to be found sprawled on the floor, trying to stay conscious. He’d been worried, not thinking…and hadn’t planned to end up here.

“You better not have ripped any stitches,” John continued, reaching down to help Dean up.

“I heard stuff breaking,” Dean explained. “What was breaking?” Dean’s words hitched as he was propped to his feet.

“You were dreaming,” John grunted as he shouldered Dean’s weight and started slowly back to the bedroom, moving them toward the bed. “How did you get this far?”

“No, not the bed. Downstairs.” Dean felt dizzy, nauseous and disoriented but he wanted to see Sam. Needed to know Sam was okay.

“I can barely get you back to bed. How do you think I can get you downstairs?” John said matter-of-factly.

Dean wasn’t dissuaded in the least. “Things were breaking,” he said adamantly.

“You were dreaming,” John repeated firmly as he lowered Dean onto the mattress. “Morphine’ll do that to ya.”

_Man, he’s a good liar._ He’d forgotten where he’d learned it.

Dean tried a different tact. “So, where’s Dana, Dad?”

“Eating her burger in the kitchen. Figured if she ate in front of you that you’d beg it off her and then puke it up.” John started checking Dean’s stitches, lifting up the t-shirt.

“Bullshit.” Dean was agitated, tired of being protected from what he clearly had a right to know. “Ok, try this one Dad. What the hell is that wall my head keeps banging into?” If Dean were two, he would have stuck out his tongue and yelled, “Gotcha.” He was damn close to doing it anyway.

“Have no idea what you’re talking about,” John answered blithely.

“You don’t, huh? My own father lying straight to my face,” Dean paused, shooting a glare at this father then proceeded, “Ok, there was a wall before, kinda spongy. I sorta bounced off of it, springy. Then breaking sounds woke me and then boom! My brain slams into a wall like an impact at 100 miles per hour.”

Dean took a breath and added, “Explain that _Dad_.” He would like to reach over and choke him but Dean didn’t have the strength after the whole escapade that had landed him on the floor in the hallway. And anyway, John could just turn and walk out of the room without answering anything. And Dean needed answers.

John didn’t say a word, just stood there taking Dean’s pulse. He didn’t look at Dean, which was as good as admitting that he was lying…not just lying, but hiding something.

Dean lost it. “My brain feels like my foot would if I was kicking my boot against a steel wall trying to bring it down. What is that fucking wall for?”

John looked up at this son, sighed, “You are old enough to know that you get no where kicking a steel wall.” John reached to re-attach the IV and to add some morphine to the bag.

Dean jerked his arm away, shook his head emphatically, which hurt, a lot. “For fuck’s sake Dad, TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON.”

John grabbed Dean’s arm, sat on the edge of the bed. “Ok, ok, calm down and I’ll tell you.” John waited a couple of beats until Dean’s breathing evened out.

“I misjudged. No, scratch that – I fucked up. I thought Sam was sleeping. Dana stopped the second wave and threw up the wall. Missouri’s collapsed or timed out or something.”

Dean waited expectantly, wanting more. “Not enough Dad. What was breaking and why?”

John exhaled and then blurted it out. “He’s been seizing and it’s scrambled his brain. When the seizures happen…stuff…flies around, cracks.” John sighed again and shook his head. “He was helpless, down, and I didn’t realize. Dana’s…helping him.”

“Dana’s helping him do what?” Dean was beginning to hyperventilate.

“You have to stay calm.” John got the IV line re-established and ran his hand through his hair. “I can not deal with one more thing. You hear me?”

“Calm?” Dean was furious, not sure who to blame, but furious. “Calm, Dad? You lied to me!”

“Calm the fuck down,” John yelled. “Or I’m walking out of here right now.”

Dean choked out a half-laugh but consciously regulated his breathing. “Way to make me calm Dad – yelling, very effective.”

“Caretaking is not my strong suit,” John spit out. “Dana’s blocking the seizures, letting him put things back in order. That stupid kid told me he had to let it run its course. Dana just told me that’s utter bullshit.” John turned his head slightly to the left and added, “If she hadn’t intervened, it would have killed him.”

Dean was stricken, felt the color drain from his face. “What?’ Dean went to sit up, winced and gasped, collapsed back down. He had to admit the morphine definitely was wearing off.

“If you want to keep talking about this, you have to let me give you another dose for the pain,” John stated inflexibly.

Dean nodded and John added the dose. They sat quietly for a few minutes until Dean felt the numbing effect start to flow through his body. He groaned involuntarily with relief.

“So, let me get this straight. He would have died and it was completely avoidable?”

“I don’t know about completely but I’m suspecting largely avoidable, yeah.”

“Motherfucker.” Dean’s eyes were closed. Sam had done some foolhardy shit but this wasn’t foolhardy, this was basically suicidal. His hands fisted at his side and he punched the mattress in anger and helplessness.

John reassured Dean. “Calm Son, I am not interested in re-stitching you. Sam may not have realized how bad it was going to get. Dana has him stable now, the worst is over.”

“Are you sure she’s not in danger? You know Dana, thinks she can do anything.” Dean didn’t know who to worry about more. Hated feeling this helpless, hated putting all of this on his father’s shoulders.

John admitted, “Truthfully, I don’t know for sure. But she’s blocked a couple of seizures already and she didn’t bat an eyelash.”

“This is so fucked up,” Dean shook his head lightly as he paused, then asked, “Why does he have to be such a fucking martyr?”

“Dana called him a bloody martyr,” John laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Things were getting foggy for Dean as the morphine took over. His eyes were heavy when he mumbled, “We’ve got to help him past that, all of us, ok?’

* * *

It had been a few hours. The miserable yellow sparks had slowed and weakened. She was pretty sure that the blowback was drawing to a close. She sighed and sent another wave of comfort and light through Sam’s mind. Things were better for him, calmer. The connections were half-fixed.

Then she hit something odd. Not odd in a wrong way. Odd in that it had a shape, a soft and squishy form in a place where everything else was loose and flowing, amorphous. She didn’t touch it and didn’t linger but noted how it felt and where it was. It was so very different from anything she had ever touched, strange. She tucked the knowledge away so that she could talk to Missouri about it later…once this was over.

She felt Sam’s mind stir and then he physically tensed. Out loud, she said, “Sam. It’s Dana. Don’t try to move.”

He jerked, but there was no obvious response that he had heard her.

With her mind, she repeated, _Sam. It’s Dana. Don’t try to move._

There – some attempt to communicate. She pulled him in tighter; he slightly rocked his head. Again, she sensed an unreadable word thought.

She amplified the connection, put together a few more links, tried to clear up the signal. Then she caught it loud and clear. _Touch….hurts_

She lifted him up and off her lap, placing him on the floor. He moaned, maybe in relief, maybe from pain.

Ari whimpered and then cried, looked at Dana pleadingly.

Sam half-opened an eye and went rigid. His message came through loud and clear this time, and with it some of the pain. _so bright so bright so bright_

Honestly, it wasn’t. No light was on in the bathroom. Only a small light in the hallway. She leaned over to cover his eyes and he cringed.

_No touch. No light. ._

Dana whispered to Ari, “Go get Papa, now. Go.”

Down the hall, she heard Ari bark and then her grandfather coming down the hall.

“What Dana, is he awake?” John asked much too loudly. Sam recoiled on the floor, not quite a convulsion, but enough that even John took a step back.

Dana whispered, “Sensory overload. He’s sorta awake. Get him some morphine.”

“Can do.”

* * *

Dean jerked awake. Doctor Dave was taking his pulse.

“Hey Dean. You look better.” Dave reached for his eyes, shined a light into his pupil. “I want to take a couple of vials of blood, ok?”

“Yeah sure – didn’t know you were coming back,” Dean winced as Dave checked the stitches on his face, then proceeded to change the bandage.

“Your Dad called me to come check on Sam.” Dave tilted Dean’s head away and fitted a tape to the edges of the bandage. “We moved him upstairs and I’ve treated him.”

Dean jerked away, tried to push his way out of bed.

“Whoa there, no getting up. You look better, but I didn’t say you should try standing on your own.” Dave pressed Dean down and continued with the bandage.

“Need to see Sam,” Dean demanded as he reached out mentally for Sam. He didn’t hit that wall. Progress. He felt something, a scattered mess of stuff but definitely Sam.

He felt Dana then, between him and Sam. He looked up and saw Dana leaning against the door frame. She smiled at him. “He’s in his room Dad. He’s medicated, getting hydrated. His senses are,” she waited, seemingly looking for the right word, “jumbled.”

Dean assessed his daughter; she was obviously tired but her coloring was good and she seemed very together. “Are you okay? No lies, tell me honestly.”

“Yeah fine, could use a hot shower and about 24 hours of sleep but I’m fine, really Dad. Sam’s gonna be fine too.” Her tone was confident, relieved.

“Dana – I need to see him, touch him. Help me to his room. I’ll go right back to bed, scout’s honor.”

Dana guffawed, “You were never a scout. Nice try. And he can’t be touched right now, his senses are all hyper. Give it a few hours and I’ll help you over there.”

“Dana – I need to see him.”

Dave had finished checking Dean and had taken the blood sample. “Guys, I hate to interrupt but I’m done and heading out. Dean, I strongly recommend you don’t try to get down that hall, even with Dana’s help. You shouldn’t walk on those feet and your blood pressure still isn’t back to normal. Maybe in 24 hours, once you’ve kept down something solid.” Dave patted Dean on the arm, hugged Dana at the door and headed downstairs.

“Dana – I need to see him.” Dean peeled the blanket off him and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you just hear what Dave said?” Dana gazed at him, clearly annoyed.

“Dave doesn’t know that you are perfectly capable of helping me move down that hall, now does he?” Dean wasn’t going to lose this argument. He had to see Sam. Had to know he was okay.

* * *

The room was pitch black. Someone, probably John, had covered the windows with black-out paper. And it was silent.

Dean couldn’t really see Sam as he entered the room, just saw a shape in the bed. Somehow Dana had made him feel light as a feather moving down the hall. It had been a piece of cake.

He felt his chest constrict as he approached Sam’s bed. Dana lowered him down.

Dean touched Sam’s arm before Dana could stop him. Dana gasped.

“What?” Dean whispered to her. “What’s wrong?”

Dana replied ever so softly, “He didn’t recoil from your touch.” She bent down and placed her index finger on Sam’s arm. His body tensed instantly and he moaned in pain. “I’ll be…,” she said.

Dean lowered himself down until he was laying next to Sam, bodies aligned and close, but not actually touching. “Hi Sam. It’s me. I’m just gonna sleep a little. Ok if I do it here?”

Dean stopped to study Sam’s face. It wasn’t said…it wasn’t even really thought coherently. Dean heard him anyway….he smiled, “Yeah, good to see you too.”

And so they slept.


End file.
